Flash fiction on a Monday
This one started to get away from me. I think I rescued it.
Pick me
The woman at the table to his left was talking about the Indians indigenous to Mexico’s Copper Canyon (the Tarahumaras, he recalls) and how they’re fierce and independent and they hate everyone – ever their own kind.
“They live in caves and far away from each other, too,” the woman prattles. “They just don’t get along with anyone.
“I asked the tour guide how in the devil did the boys and girls of different tribes get together to start a family.”
“Are you hearing this?”
“What?”
“Table to my left, older couple with the younger couple.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You are not. This is entertaining. Listen.”
“So he says, ‘There are gatherings, yes, where the tribes gets together and if a boy catches the eye of a girl, the girl picks up a rock and throws it at him.’ Throws is at him? And, and? ‘It is a done deal. She has chosen. They go off, they get married.’ Isn’t that just remarkable?”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You have to admit, the process has merit.”
“The process doesn’t have merit, Dez. It’s a shitty way to pick a mate.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you, Dez. And I know who you’d like to toss a rock at you and I’m telling you, she’d kill you.”
He took a long draw from his pint. She was right of course. She’d kill him. In more ways than one.
Pick me
The woman at the table to his left was talking about the Indians indigenous to Mexico’s Copper Canyon (the Tarahumaras, he recalls) and how they’re fierce and independent and they hate everyone – ever their own kind.
“They live in caves and far away from each other, too,” the woman prattles. “They just don’t get along with anyone.
“I asked the tour guide how in the devil did the boys and girls of different tribes get together to start a family.”
“Are you hearing this?”
“What?”
“Table to my left, older couple with the younger couple.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You are not. This is entertaining. Listen.”
“So he says, ‘There are gatherings, yes, where the tribes gets together and if a boy catches the eye of a girl, the girl picks up a rock and throws it at him.’ Throws is at him? And, and? ‘It is a done deal. She has chosen. They go off, they get married.’ Isn’t that just remarkable?”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You have to admit, the process has merit.”
“The process doesn’t have merit, Dez. It’s a shitty way to pick a mate.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you, Dez. And I know who you’d like to toss a rock at you and I’m telling you, she’d kill you.”
He took a long draw from his pint. She was right of course. She’d kill him. In more ways than one.
Comments
I realize when I get a chance to read your blog how much I miss you and your writing. Sorry for the additional dread this might bring on, but I agree that your decision was the right one. Your big thing is coming, ThomG. It might already be in your midst.